


S e c r e t [British Villains x Reader]

by LadyLyacaria



Category: British Actor RPF, Jaguar "British Villains" Commercial
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Action, Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Coercion, Comedy, Crimes & Criminals, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fanfiction, Gen, Manipulation, Multi, Organized Crime, RPF, Reader-Insert, Romance, Secret Organizations, Slow Romance, Spies & Secret Agents, Threats of Violence, Villains, World Domination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 19:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13665768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLyacaria/pseuds/LadyLyacaria
Summary: Your all-time favourite film genre is action, but never in your wildest dreams would you have thought that you would actually get caught up in something straight out of one of your beloved films. Unfortunately, it’s not the good guys that have taken an interest in you … ☼ ON HIATUS ☼Disclaimer: I do not own any of the actors mentioned in this story. I only own the story and the OCs appearing in it.✶Comments are highly appreciated✶





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING! This fanfic is unfinished (as of yet) and has been on hiatus for a long time now. I cannot promise that I will ever finish it, but I still wanted to share it with you, my dear readers. I hope you will enjoy it nonetheless~! ♥

_se·cret_

_adjective_

_/ˈsiː.krət/_

_kept from knowledge or view || working with hidden aims or methods_

* * *

A low, long sigh escaped your lips as you opened up the website of yet another company. Your already a bit tired [colour] eyes scanned the small words on the brightly glowing screen of your mobile phone, looking for the link to the section with the vacant positions.

As soon as you found it, you tapped on it. While patiently waiting for the page to load, you took a sip from the cup of [coffee/tea] standing on the cast-iron table you were sitting at. Before directing your gaze back at the phone screen, you rubbed your eyes and then stifled a yawn with your hand.

Staring at both your laptop and your mobile phone for hours straight was not exactly healthy, for neither your eyes nor your body. But this was a very important matter – you had to find a job after all.

You had finished college a few months ago, and since then you had been in search of a job that you were interested in. You didn’t really pay attention to the size of the salary you would get, having a job you enjoyed doing was, for you at least, more important than earning loads of money for doing something you didn’t even like.

Thus, a smile flitted across your face when you came across an appealing job offer, and you jotted down the name of the company, the email address of the person you were supposed to contact, and the aforementioned job offer you were interested in.

So far, you hadn’t had any luck with getting a vacant position unfortunately. You had had quite a lot of job interviews, of course, because you didn’t miss out on any job offer that had piqued your interest. But you had been rejected every single time, fishing the sent-back binder with documents like your curriculum vitae out of the mailbox a few days after the interview.

But you didn’t give up. What other choice did you have anyway? Living off of the little money you would earn with casual work and loafing about your flat without getting anywhere in your life? Nope, that wouldn’t happen – at least not in the near future. You wouldn’t give up on your dreams of becoming a [dream job] any time soon.

You pocketed your phone, gulped down the last bit of your [coffee/tea], and stood up, entering the small, cosy sidewalk café. This was your favourite place to hang out at. Not many people came here because it was pretty far away from Oxford Street, but luckily, it still had enough customers to not go bankrupt and be closed down. You sometimes met up here with your friends – well, the few you had anyway since had difficulties maintaining more than five friendships at the same time.

Making a beeline for the toilets in the back of the café’s main room, you walked across the well-lit room and lithely dodged other customers, waiters, and waitresses. The latter were carrying trays with glasses, cups, plates and the like for the most part, either setting what was on the tray down on one of the many tables both inside and outside the café or gathering the empty dishes from a table where a customer had been sitting minutes ago.

The sounds of happily chatting and laughing people, chinking cutlery, and clattering plates followed you into the women’s toilet, albeit muffled, now that the door was closed. A few minutes later, you left the toilet room again – only to walk right into another person who was hurrying down the hallway towards the main room of the café, sending you stumbling backwards and bumping into the closed door to the women’s toilet.

“Excuse me, miss,” a male voice said, and a hand clasped your upper arm, pulling you forward and back into an upright standing position. “I thoughtlessly paid no attention to my surroundings. Are you all right?”

Still a bit dazed by the sudden impact, you looked up into the greyish green eyes of a young man about your age. The first thing you noticed about him were his pearly white teeth he flashed at you in a bright, yet polite smile. The second thing was the navy-blue suit he was wearing. It fitted him perfectly, there weren’t any creases in the smooth-looking material – in other words: it seemed to be specially tailored for him.

“Uh, yes. I am,” you stammered, taken aback, blushing madly because of his good looks. You had never seen someone as well-groomed as him in real life before, only on television. “I should apologize. I didn’t check if someone was coming down the hallway.”

His dazzling smile grew a little wider, and your heartbeat sped up a couple of notches. How could someone have teeth so white and perfect like his? They seemed like straight from a commercial about toothpaste. How was that possible? “That’s all right. Are you sure you didn’t hurt yourself, miss?”

You nodded affirmatively. Your eyes were practically glued to his, although you really wanted to avert your gaze so that the traitorous blush on your cheeks would go away again. “Everything is alright,” you said, glad that your voice didn’t give away the turmoil in your chest.

“Well then, have a nice day.” The man turned to leave and continued on his way down the hallway, his steps long and determined.

As you watched him stride across the café’s main room, your attention was drawn to the briefcase he was carrying in one hand. The edges of some sheets of paper were peeping out as if it had been closed in a hurry, but the young man took no notice of that.

Maybe a transaction of confidential documents had secretly taken place in this café. Or maybe you had watched too many films about spies and secret agents and such and were now misinterpreting things. It was most likely the latter. After all, you did watch these films often. Very often. At least three times a week, to be exact, and sometimes to the dislike of your friends. But you didn’t care because these films were fantastic and badass and you loved them.


	2. Chapter 2

_se·cret_

_adjective_

_/ˈsiː.krət/_

_kept from knowledge or view || working with hidden aims or methods_

* * *

You shook your head to pull yourself out of this train of thought and took a few deep breaths to calm down your fast beating heart. You had already been standing motionlessly in the hallway for too long and could consider yourself lucky that no one had come here and seen you staring in the distance with a blank, yet flushed face without moving an inch. Oh goodness, how awkward and embarrassing would that have been?

You quickly returned to your table outside the café and were just about to sit down on the chair next to the one your [favourite colour] messenger bag was lying on when you caught a glimpse of dark blue in the corner of your eye. Pausing mid-motion, you looked over to see the man from earlier disappear in a side alleyway two apartment buildings away.

You also saw that a piece of paper slipped from the young man’s briefcase, sailing through the air and onto the dirty pavement. He didn’t seem to have noticed though, thus you straightened up and hurriedly walked over to the opening of the alley, picking up the sheet.

“Excuse me, mister, it seems like you’ve dropped something!” you called after the man who already was halfway across the alley and now turned around upon hearing your voice, the polite smile back on his lips. Had it ever left his face in the first place? You weren’t really sure, but this was of no importance right now.

Waving the sheet of paper in your hand to draw the man’s attention to it, you jogged over to him. However, as you were approaching him, steps echoed through the mostly empty alleyway and got closer to you. Merely two seconds later, two men stepped in front of you, effectively barring your way.

“Excuse me, miss,” one of them spoke up with a gravelly voice, forcing a strained smile onto his lips, but it didn’t reach his hard eyes. He was at least two heads taller than you and half a head taller than his colleague. You had to tilt your head back to look at him properly. “Would you please give us this sheet of paper?”

You eyed them attentively. They were dressed in a similar fashion like the young man you had met in the café, both clad in a tailor-made, black suit. But something about them made you feel rather uncomfortable, caused a bad feeling to arise in your guts.

“Um, well, I’m afraid I can’t,” you replied and cautiously took a small step backwards, gripping the piece of paper and unintentionally crumpling it. “I don’t think that it belongs to you, misters.”

“This is a matter of utmost importance, miss,” the other man insisted. He reached for the sheet of paper in your hands, but you pressed it to your side. He frowned. “You do not understand. We really need this paper, and we cannot take a no as an answer.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him. What was going on here? What was written on this piece of paper in your hands that these two men were fixated with getting hold of it? Swallowing hard and audibly, you tightened your grip on the damned sheet of paper that had brought you into this mess, clenched fists pressed to your sides. What had you gotten yourself into?

Your eyes flickered towards where you had last seen the young man with the briefcase, but the two men in front of you were not only blocking your path, but also your field of view. Had he seized the opportunity of you involuntarily distracting these men and taken flight?

The men exchanged eloquent looks. The one on the left was visibly annoyed by your refusal and looked like he would love to just rip the paper from your hands without having to convince you to give it to him, whereas the one on the right kept his cool and didn’t seem to like his companion’s willingness to use force, narrowing his eyes at him. In the end, they both looked back at you, and their gazes were even more intense than before and gave you the chills.

“Look, miss, this man you have seen is a wanted criminal,” the calm man spoke up, pushing his glasses higher up his nose. “He has stolen the briefcase and its content, and we are instructed to recover it. The sheet of paper you are holding is part of the briefcase’s content.”

Your one eyebrow joined the other, both now raised in utter confusion. This was just like in one of these films you loved to watch, but you weren’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. I mean, well, it was unusual for things similar to films (whether from the action films about secret agents you loved to watch or from any other film) to happen. To be exact, things like these never happened because they were from films, and films were merely fiction most of the time. And especially the things that happened in your life were anything but from films.

“If that man really is a wanted criminal, well, uh, shouldn’t you rather set about arresting him than talking to me, if I may say so?” you retorted, unable to bite back this remark, your voice as polite as could be. You would regret this a moment later.

The associate of the calm man clenched his teeth, lips pressed together into a grim line. “Alright then.” he growled. His aggressive undertone sent a shiver down your spine. Well done, you had just set him off. “You asked for this, girl.”

His hand shot forward, probably to grab your arm, but you swiftly evaded his grasp by turning to the side, his fingers clutching nothing but air. A look of surprise registered on his face as he shot a glance at his partner who looked equally surprised at your sudden display of agility.

Your friends always said that you looked like you wouldn’t hurt a fly and were the personified innocence and kindness. Thus, the astonishment on their faces had been priceless when you had showed them your newly acquired skills in self-defence, easily flooring one of them after telling them to grab your wrist. These two men in front of you, the looks on their faces remembered you of the ones your friends had had back then.


	3. Chapter 3

_se·cret_

_adjective_

_/ˈsiː.krət/_

_kept from knowledge or view || working with hidden aims or methods_

* * *

Once again, the brute attempted to grab your arm, but this time, unfortunately, he anticipated your evasive manoeuvre. His hand seized your elbow before you were able to elude him. A sly grin stretched across his face just as your blood ran cold. “That’s what you get for refusing to cooperate with us, girl,” he sneered.

You gave up your struggle against the man’s vice-like grip the moment you realized that there was no escape this way. Blood was rushing through your ears and almost drowned out all the other noises. Instead, you drew back your other arm for a blow, but the man’s companion intervened and grabbed your arm, stopping you from slamming the heel of your palm against the other man’s nose and wiping that stupid smug grin off his face.

The shorter man peered at you over the top of his glasses. “Miss, you will make yourself liable to prosecution if you attack one of us,” he warned you.

“There is no need to become violent towards an innocent civilian,” the all too familiar voice of the young man from the café sounded. “Especially against a young lady. You should be ashamed of yourselves, gentlemen. I am the one you are looking for, am I not? This lady has nothing to do with this, and you should not take out your anger and frustration on her.”

With flaring nostrils much like a bull, the giant of a man let go of you immediately and whipped around to face the man with the briefcase who was now back in your field of view. “Didn’t think you’d still be here,” he said and spat onto the dirty pavement, causing both his partner and you to turn up your noses in disgust. “I thought you had already taken French leave, you bugger.”

“I cannot just leave a young lady in the hands of someone like you, now can I?” the young man replied, looking unfazed by his opponent’s words. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I dared to do something like that?”

The spectacled man turned his full attention to him as well, lips pursed and a frown etched into his features. “You are not a gentleman. If anything, you are a serious offender.”

Now, both men had their backs turned to you. They seemed to have completely forgotten about you and the sheet of paper you were still holding, crumpled up in your hand, they had so desperately wanted to get.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. Without more ado, you crept back to the opening of the alleyway where you had come from, casting one last glance at the man in the navy-blue suit who was currently taunting his opponents with a challenging wave of his wand, motioning them closer. Then, you left the alley and walked back to the café at a fast pace as if you were escaping the mess you had accidentally gotten into, neither wanting to hear nor see what was about to happen between the two opposing parties.

All of this wouldn’t have happened to you in the first place if you hadn’t picked up that damned piece of paper out of pure courtesy. But now you were in this nasty, tricky affair (whatever it was, but it seemed to be extremely important), and you had the feeling that wouldn’t get out of it so easily as to just flee from the scene and lock yourself in your flat and keep a low profile. No, something was telling you that this wouldn’t do it. There were bigger forces at work here that would track you down with ease.

You sat down at your table near the entrance to the café again and put the crumpled sheet of paper next to your empty cup of [coffee/tea]. With a sigh of relief, you noticed that your messenger bag hadn’t been stolen in the meantime. You had carelessly left it behind, but who would have thought that you would be gone for more than a minute?

You beckoned a waiter over to your table and ordered another cup of [coffee/tea], doing your best to not let your nervousness and uneasiness show. A small, forced smile tugged the corners of your lips upwards.

Sinking into the padded chair, you took a shaky breath and scraped a hand through your [length] hair. Somehow you would get out of this. You didn’t know how, but you would do it. Somehow, someday. You weren’t even that deeply involved in this affair, right? This was most likely nothing more than a scratch on the surface.

You would keep your mouth shut about what you had seen and heard and forget everything. You wouldn’t make the foolish mistake of trying to figure out the things you had experienced. You would love to grow old and not die at a young age because of your own imprudence.

You got pulled out of your thoughts with a start when the waiter suddenly emerged out of thin air right next to you and placed the cup of steaming-hot [coffee/tea] on your table. Sending a smile your way, he took the old cup you had emptied earlier with him and walked over to another table with a customer that demanded his attention.

You clutched the comfortably warm cup and gazed vacantly into the [dark/light] liquid inside, but you looked up as soon as you heard firm steps approaching you. Your eyes widened slightly at the sight of the young man.

He was still carrying the briefcase with the (presuming that the two men had spoken the truth) stolen documents which meant that he had got rid his opponents. The two of them had seemed to be more than willing to use violence, and considering the lack of creases and dirt on the young man’s suit, he didn’t seem to have gotten involved in a close combat with the men.

You rather didn’t finish that train of thought. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up with an unpleasant prickle.


	4. Chapter 4

_se·cret_

_adjective_

_/ˈsiː.krət/_

_kept from knowledge or view || working with hidden aims or methods_

* * *

“Ah, it’s good to see that you are still here, miss,” the man said, the seemingly ever-present smile playing about his lips. “It seems like you’ve got something that belongs to me.” He put out his well-manicured hand towards you, the palm turned upward, and looked at you expectantly. “If you please.”

Without looking at it – after all, the less you knew, the higher the chances of him letting you be –, you gave him the sheet of paper, avoiding meeting his gaze. “If you don’t mind me asking, mister, what, uh, happened to the two other men?” you asked tentatively despite better knowledge. Did you even want to know? You weren’t sure.

He scrutinized you while he was neatly folding up the piece of paper you had given him. “I think you’ve already figured what has happened to them, miss,” he responded in a calm tone of voice as he put the folded sheet into the breast pocket of his suit. “As the saying goes, ‘Never judge a book by its cover.’ You have a remarkably keen sense of observation. Unfortunately, curiosity killed the cat. If I could give you a piece of advice, miss, you shouldn’t stick your nose into someone else’s business.”

“Well, if I would have known that showing some courtesy means inadvertently getting involved in somebody else’s business, then I wouldn’t have done anything at all, believe me, mister,” you said. You persistently proceeded to not meet his gaze and instead glanced about, although you felt his piercing grey-green eyes upon you.

He hummed and fell silent, neither saying anything else nor leaving. You would have preferred the latter, but of course, the former happened. “I advise you to stay away from the alleyway and not say a single word about what you have seen and heard, miss,” he said, his voice so quiet only you could hear it. “This way, nothing will happen to you. Do you understand?”

You nodded stiffly, subconsciously gripping the cup between your hands so tightly your knuckles turned white. Then, a mere moment later, your grip loosened up as you were flooded with relief, and you let out a small sigh. Fortune seemed to be smiling on you at last. This was exactly what you had hoped to happen. Like hell you would miss out on this opportunity of coming away with no more than a shock.

“That’s good to hear.” He produced a few banknotes and coins from his sleeve and placed them on the table. “It’s my treat. Have a nice day, miss.” He bowed his head and walked back in the direction of the alley, the smile not having disappeared from his lips once.

Your eyes following him with every step he took, you heaved yet another relieved sigh as soon as he was out of sight. With him, all of the tension in your body seemed to leave as well. You slouched in your chair, eyelids falling close. Thank goodness this was over. You would banish all the things that had happened in the past twenty minutes from your mind and never ever think about them again.

After opening your eyes again, you sipped at the [coffee/tea] that had already cooled down a little, staring into space while you were fighting back the thoughts of the young man trying to force their way into your mind – but you failed to hold them back.

You realized that despite everything, you had felt safer in his presence than in the one of the two men, even though he was supposed to be a wanted criminal, if not a serious offender. But after all, he hadn’t become violent towards you, unlike said men, and had behaved like a real gentleman. You couldn’t help but wonder who he was. He didn’t seem like a common criminal – no robber would be able to afford a tailor-made suit, and you hadn’t heard of gentlemanly burglars before either.

Was he really some kind of secret agent? If so (and that would be absolutely great), was he working for the good or the bad guys? It might well be that the two men had lied to you and had actually been the bad guys, and you had helped defeat them. Oh god, but what if you had just helped an enemy of the state acquire confidential documents, albeit of necessity?

Don’t think about it, you told yourself, vigorously shaking your head to get rid of these thoughts. This is none of your business. Finding out who the mysterious man was would require you meeting him again, and you did not want that at all. Nope. You would rather forget about him completely since this wouldn’t entail the risk of death.

Suddenly, someone plopped down in the chair across from yours with an annoyed groan. “Sorry for being late, [Nickname]. I went the wrong way, like, five times. Jesus Christ,” the female newcomer complained, casually stretching out her legs beneath the table and running a hand through her walnut brown hair. “How do you find your way here without getting lost or ending up somewhere entirely else? How does anyone do that? Seems impossible to me.”

You snickered. “It’s not that difficult, really,” you said, amused, your eyes focusing on Sasha who was broadly grinning at you. Her infectious cheerfulness immediately dispersed your gloomy mood. It always did that. “I come here often, so I know my way around. You’re only here for the third time.”

“You’re probably right.” Your best friend sat upright with a jerk, leaned forward, and propped up her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hands. She then proceeded to stare at you for several moments of silence. “Say, is everything alright, [Nickname]?”

You froze for a split second, ice-cold fingers grabbing the back of your neck and running down your back. You could tell her about the damned things that had happened to you, yeah, but what would you achieve with that? Apart from putting your best friend in danger? She wouldn’t be able to help you anyway. Telling her would get you nowhere. In fact, it would only make things even worse than they already were.

“Yep, everything’s fine,” you answered without thinking twice about it.


	5. Chapter 5

_se·cret_

_adjective_

_/ˈsiː.krət/_

_kept from knowledge or view || working with hidden aims or methods_

* * *

The awfully obnoxious ringing of your telephone startled you out of your trance-like state as you were lounging on the couch in the living room of your flat and watching your favourite series on television.

Sighing exasperatedly, you snatched the remote control from the coffee table and turned down the volume a little, but didn’t stand up yet. Who dared to disturb you? Perhaps it was merely a call from someone trying to flog you a subscription to a newspaper or stuff. But perhaps it was something important. Perhaps a company was calling you because you had applied for one of their vacant positions. You wouldn’t find out unless you answered the phone.

It was about a week after the … incident you had put on your mental list of things you wanted to forget, like that embarrassing thing twelve-year-old stupid you had done in middle school … Yep, better not think about it. Nothing remarkable had happened since that day, apart from the umpteenth rejection of a company you had contacted some time ago. No men in suits had showed up at your front door or in the middle of the street to liquidate you. The strange gentleman had kept his word just like you had kept silent about everything.

Reluctantly, you got up from the couch, wanting to miss neither a single second of the new episode of [favourite series] – which you unfortunately could not pause – nor the may-or-may-not important call. With your eyes fixed on the flickering television screen for as long as possible, you trudged out of the living room backwards and into the hallway. You picked up the telephone standing on a chest of drawers and said: “[First name] [Last name] speaking.”

“Good day, Miss [Last name],” the deep, smooth voice of a male greeted you. “This is Mark Strong. I am speaking on behalf of the company Jaguar.”

Jaguar, the car manufacturer, huh? “Good day, Mister Strong,” you replied, leaning against the chest of drawers with your back. “How can I help you? I’m afraid I do not recall applying for a job in your company.”

“Indeed, you haven’t applied for one of our job offers,” Mr. Strong answered. “However, you were highly recommended by one of our employees, and we would love to invite you to our dealership on Berkeley Street in Mayfair for a job interview.”

You blinked in surprise, your brow furrowed. You were absolutely sure that none of your friends were working at Jaguar, and you hadn’t been in a car dealership of Jaguar because their cars were far too expensive for you. The resulting questions were: Who was this employee Mr. Strong had mentioned? And how did they know that you were currently looking for a job? Furthermore, you hadn’t ever heard of a company calling someone and asking them for a job interview without said person actually having applied for a vacant position.

“I’d love to. When would this job interview be? What did you have in mind?” you asked after a moment’s hesitation. Why would someone bother faking this phone call? To do nothing more than to lure you to Berkeley Street? And then what? As far as you knew, there indeed was a dealership of Jaguar on that street. And even if this really should turn out to be a fake, then you would just turn around and go back home, as simple as that.

“Is four o’clock today convenient for you? I am sorry that this is at such short notice.”

You looked over to the wall clock hanging above door frame to the kitchen. It was shortly before three o’clock. Oh well, you hadn’t had anything special planned for today anyway. Who knew, maybe you would finally be in luck and this job interview would turn out well for once. “Ah, that’s quite all right.”

“Excellent, excellent,” Mr. Strong said. Although you were only talking to him on the phone, you heard the smile in his voice. “Four o’clock it is then. Goodbye, Miss [Last name].”

“Goodbye, Mister Strong.” You hung up and put the telephone back on its base station. You could not deny that this whole situation was rather odd. A company you had never got involved with before contacting you out of the blue and inviting you to a job interview? Odd indeed. But curiosity got the better of you. It always did.

Unfortunately, curiosity killed the cat.

Upon hearing the mysterious stranger’s words echoing through your head, you couldn’t help but shudder. A grimace distorted your features as you wrapped your arms around yourself as if to ward off his voice. You sure as hell wouldn’t let curiosity (or anything else for that matter) kill you. Yes, you were curious, you knew that yourself, but you weren’t naïve. You knew when not to poke your nose in something where it was not wanted.

Exhaling slowly and deeply and letting your arms fall to your sides, you vehemently drove away the memories of the stranger in the navy-blue suit. You had wanted to never think about him again, dammit! You huffed, scolding yourself for letting him take over your thoughts yet again, and went back into the living room where you turned off the television. It seemed like you would have to watch the rerun of today’s episode some time later, you realized with a sigh. Then, you swapped your loose-fitting, sleeveless top and your sweat pants for a more formal attire and freshened yourself up in the bathroom.

On your way out of your flat, after one last glance into the cheval mirror standing next to the chest of drawers in the hallway to check your appearance, you grabbed your bunch of keys and purse and packed both away in the pockets of your blazer. Locking the front door behind you, you skipped down the stairs in the stairwell, taking two steps at a time, and set out for the nearest tube station to get to Berkeley Street.


	6. Chapter 6

_se·cret_

_adjective_

_/ˈsiː.krət/_

_kept from knowledge or view || working with hidden aims or methods_

* * *

About ten minutes later, you had arrived at your destination and were standing in front of Jaguar’s dealership on Berkeley Street. You cast a glance at your watch – it was five minutes to four o’clock – and entered the car dealership, walking up to a counter where a rather bored-looking woman was seated, but she put on a friendly smile as soon as she caught sight of you.

“Good day, miss. What can I do for you?” she asked.

“Good day. I have a job interview in a couple of minutes,” you told her with a smile of your own whilst briefly smoothing down your clothes. “With a certain Mister Strong, I suppose. You see, he was the one who called me.”

A look of realization dawned upon her face, and she looked down, flipping through the pages of a personal organizer lying on the desk in front of her before lifting her gaze again. Her smile had turned into a small, lopsided smirk. “You must be Miss [Last name].” She stood up and motioned you with a wave of her hand to follow her. “This way, please. Mister Strong is already waiting for you.”

The woman led you across the showroom to the private rooms in the back of the dealership, past brightly polished and waxed cars, customers who looked like they were rolling in money, and other employees dressed in formal clothing just like you. The heels of her pumps were constantly clicking against the black tiled, gleaming floor of the showroom, but the repetitive sound got muffled by the dark carpet in the back rooms.

In front of a wooden door at the end of the hallway with a gold sign with ‘Mark Strong’ engraved on it, she came to a halt and turned around to you. “Here we are. Good luck, miss.” And with these words, she went in the direction you two had come from just a moment ago, leaving you standing somewhere in the back rooms of a place you had never been before. Great.

You straightened your clothes one last time – and, while doing so, wiped possible sweat off your hands –, took a deep breath, and knocked at the door, the thick wood absorbing large parts of the sound.

Yet, barely two seconds later, you heard a muffled “Come in,” but as you were reaching for the doorknob, the door was already opened from within the room, revealing a half-bald, almost shaven-headed man in a light grey suit standing behind a clean and tidy, mahogany desk at the other end of the room, right across from the door.

“Good day,” he greeted you, smiling warmly. “Miss [Last name], right?” His smooth voice gave him away as the person who had called you earlier, if you hadn’t already been convinced by the fact that he had apparently been sitting at the desk before you had entered.

That, on the other hand, made you aware of the presence of another person in the room, because Mr. Strong could not have possibly been the one who had opened the door for you. He simply had not been able to do so since he was across the room and not anywhere near the door.

“Exactly. And you must be Mister Strong. I’m very pleased to meet you,” you said with a bright smile and entered the room.

With four long, heavy steps, Mr. Strong had crossed the room and was now standing in front of you, seizing your hand in a hearty handshake. “The pleasure is all mine.” He gestured towards something – or someone – at the door. “May I introduce Mister Cumberbatch to you? He will attend our job interview, if you have no objection.”

A black-suited man stepped into your field of view, his blue-green eyes piercing into yours the very moment you returned his gaze. “Pleased to meet you, Miss [Last name],” he spoke, his baritone voice ringing in your ears. “I hope you don’t mind my presence.”

“No, not at all. I don’t mind,” you replied, shaking his extended hand firmly. “Nice to meet you too, Mister Cumberbatch.”

Without further ado, Mr. Strong pointed to the two chairs standing in front of his desk, and you immediately complied with his request to sit down as Mr. Cumberbatch closed the door behind you, but the latter didn’t take a seat and remained standing near the door. His unrelenting gaze followed your every step, arousing a tingly feeling in your back. You pushed away the wondering thought as to why he was just standing around and watching you; you had another, more important matter at hand right now.

“Did you find your way here all right, Miss [Last name]?” Mr. Strong enquired after sitting down in the large leather swivel chair across from you.

“Why, yes, thank you for your concern,” you answered. “I had no difficulties getting here.”

He darted a look at what you presumed to be Mr. Cumberbatch and gave a scarcely noticeable nod himself, then, he leaned forward and studied your face with vigilant eyes whilst folding his hands on the shiny surface of his desk. “As you may have already noticed, Miss [Last name], this job interview isn’t taking place under normal circumstances,” he began.

A sudden suspicion, nothing more than a lurking premonition, a bad feeling you couldn’t really put your finger on, tied a knot in your stomach. You nodded again, without saying a single word. Your courteous smile was gone; you were too concentrated on your current, peculiar situation to keep up the air of polite friendliness. You didn’t know what was going on or where this would go, thus you would just stay alert for the time being.

“It is true that one of our employees has strongly recommended you for a position in our company,” Mr. Strong continued and leaned back in his chair, placing his folded hands on his lap. His eyes never left you. “He told us that you have an instinctive curiosity and, as he put it, ‘a remarkably keen sense of observation.’ I believe that you have already met him and remember him quite well, Miss [Last name].”


	7. Chapter 7

_se·cret_

_adjective_

_/ˈsiː.krət/_

_kept from knowledge or view || working with hidden aims or methods_

* * *

At this familiar choice of words, you had to suppress a startled gasp. The chair you were sitting on squeaked at the jerky movement of you abruptly straightening your back as though your spine had been replaced by a ruler all of a sudden. The cold grip of fear clutched your core. Had this really been a trap all along, to lure you here and get rid of you in the end? And silly you had fallen for it because of your bloody curiosity. Shame on you!

You heard the door being opened and closed again after someone had entered the room. This certain someone, the mysterious gentleman you had wanted to forget and never meet again, walked up next to you, and you saw him holding out his hand toward you. “Our first encounter was quite ill-starred, wasn’t it, Miss [Last name]?”

You hesitated before standing up and turning to him to shake his hand, albeit rather tentatively, but somehow you managed to look him in the eye and noticed that his smile held genuine regret which was right afterwards expressed in his words.

“I deeply regret the circumstances under which we have first met, but I’m afraid I couldn’t do anything about it,” he said, holding onto your hand a little bit longer than necessary and leaving a tingling feeling there. “Allow me to introduce myself properly, Miss [Last name]. My name is Alex Pettyfer, and I’m pleased to meet you again, this time under better circumstances fortunately.”

Astonished by his complete change of heart, you uttered a meek “Pleased to meet you too, Mister Pettyfer,” and resumed your seat as he sat down in the chair next to yours. Your mind was racing with a whirlwind of thoughts.

The stranger whose name you had finally got, who had killed two unknown men because of a stolen briefcase with confidential documents of some sort, and who had threatened you to make you keep quiet about that incident – this man, Mr. Pettyfer, evidently was hand in glove with Mr. Strong, and maybe with Mr. Cumberbatch as well.

Mr. Strong had asked you to come here to talk to you, under the pretext of inviting you to a job interview, and this meant that they wanted something from you. Not your secrecy, and not your death either, apparently, because if they had wanted to see you dead, then you would have been by now. But what else could they want from you?

“Do not worry, Miss [Last name]. I assure you that we have no intentions whatsoever of doing harm to you or anyone of your family or friends.” Mr. Strong’s gentle voice brought you back to reality and caused you to blink a couple of times. He was holding a glass of water in his hand and silently offered it to you, and you accepted it with a few words of thanks. “In fact, we have an offer to make you, if you are interested.”

Resisting the urge to nibble at your lower lip and instead having a sip of water, you indicated with a nod of your head that you were indeed interested and also listening.

If your assumptions were right, then you were currently dealing with some kind of secret organisation, and this made your pulse quicken, from both nervousness and excitement. This was just like in one of your beloved films about espionage. But then again, your life wasn’t a film, and you were in quite a delicate situation which could possibly have a bad ending for you, you were perfectly aware of that.

“We believe that you would complement our organisation perfectly, Miss [Last name],” Mr. Strong announced.

“And what kind of organisation are you speaking of?”

“I’m afraid that this is a topic we should talk about in a more private environment.” He rose from his chair in such a sudden manner that you stood up as well, and so did Mr. Pettyfer next you. “Do you mind accompanying us to our headquarters, Miss [Last name]? It is approximately half an hour’s drive away.”

Although there still was this uneasy feeling gnawing away at your insides, your answer turned out affirmative: “I don’t mind at all.” You were curious to find out what all of this was really about. And you were pretty sure that Mr. Strong had spoken the truth when he had assured you that he and his colleagues meant you no harm, thus you didn’t have to be afraid of danger lying ahead. But still, that didn’t mean that you would let your guard down foolishly.

Mr. Strong bowed his head and walked around the table and toward the door of his office which he deftly opened with the words ‘Ladies first.’ You took this as a cue to leave the room, closely followed by Mr. Strong himself who closed and locked the door after Mr. Cumberbatch and Mr. Pettyfer had exited as well. He turned to you again, saying, “If you’d like to follow me, Miss [Last name],” and then proceeded to lead you to the back exit of the car dealership, letting you walk through it first again, onto the pavement where a sleek black car (of course from Jaguar) was parked.

While the men still were filing out the building, you were already approaching the car, marvelling at it. It seemed to be straight from the showroom you had been in earlier. Its shiny polished surface was extremely clean, not a single speck of dust or dirt was visible. You wanted to touch it, run your fingers over the metallic black paint to feel its smoothness, but at the last moment – your fingers were already slowly nearing the car’s hood –, you changed your mind and quickly withdrew your hand. It probably wouldn’t make a good impression if you just went and touched the car, your eyes wide in amazement.

Just then, Mr. Cumberbatch hurried past you, causing you to flinch at his sudden appearance in your field of view, and opened the rear door of the car, motioning you to get in with a brief nod of his head. After you had settled in the leather seat – which was, by the way, exceptionally comfortable, and you felt yourself slightly sinking into the seat –, he closed the door and slipped into the seat beside yours seconds later, his seatbelt clicking into place at the same time as yours.

Meanwhile, the two other men got in the car as well, Mr. Strong taking the seat behind the steering wheel and Mr. Pettyfer sitting down on the front passenger seat. The car engine came to life with a silky purr as Mr. Strong turned on the ignition, and that purr quickly turned into a roar when he stepped on the gas pedal and drove off.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, as of yet, the last (complete) chapter I've written; the next one is far from finished.

_se·cret_

_adjective_

_/ˈsiː.krət/_

_kept from knowledge or view || working with hidden aims or methods_

* * *

Not a single word was spoken during the entirety of the car ride, creating an awful silence that was heavily weighing down on your shoulders and making the ride last half an eternity. Neither of the three men struck up a conversation with you. They all just sat in their seats, silent as the grave, and you didn’t dare to speak up either. You probably would not be able to keep up a conversation with them anyway. What was there to talk about?

And so, you ended up staring silently out the window at the beautiful cityscape zooming past. Your elbow was propped up on the narrow window sill and your fingers were twitching to tap a small rhythm in an attempt to kill time. You didn’t want to attract any unnecessary attention though. Hence, you curled up your fingers in a fist and rested your chin on them. In addition, one of your knees was incessantly bouncing up and down at a fast rate and you couldn’t make it stop. Even if you pressed your foot down on the ground, your knee would start bouncing again. You let it. Occasionally, you risked a fleeting glance over at one of the three men and, at times, met their gaze which resulted in you blushing in embarrassment and swiftly averting your eyes again.

Whilst nervously enduring the almost unbearable silence, you pondered over the question you had asked the men a little while earlier: What kind of organisation were they part of? It appeared that it was a secret one. But whether it was governmental or not, you had no clue – yet, as it seemed like you were going to find out very soon. Perhaps it was operating under the guise of the Jaguar Cars company, seeing that Mr. Strong had asked you to come to one of the company’s dealerships and was obviously working there too. But it also might well be that the company itself didn’t have the slightest idea about Mr. Strong’s membership in a secret organisation, and his job at Jaguar Cars merely acted as a cover for him.

However, these were all just assumptions. You didn’t know anything for certain, but you guessed that the men would tell you everything – or at least some of the many things you wanted to know about the organisation, for example its goals and its means of achieving them and the like. They most likely wouldn’t tell you everything unless you actually became a member of their organisation. To make that decision, you needed more information which hopefully would be provided to you when you had reached the organisation’s headquarters. You couldn’t wait to learn more about the mysterious gentleman and their equally mysterious organisation, but you had to.

After another half an eternity spent in absolute silence, you finally arrived at the headquarters – a magnificent, two-storey mansion on the outskirts of London. The gravels covering the driveway crunched beneath the car’s tires as Mr. Strong drove up to the building, parking in front of the two semi-circular stairways leading up to a platform along the front of the house, similar to a veranda without a roof.

But just as you were undoing your seat belt, a deep, continuous pulsating noise was heard overhead. Unmistakeably, a helicopter was somewhere nearby. Your hand still holding onto the seat belt’s buckle, you craned your neck to look out the window, only to spot, indeed, a rather low-flying helicopter approaching the mansion. The car began to sway, at first only lightly, but then more heavily, the closer the helicopter came; same with the booming sounds of its engine.

With eyes wide open in amazement, you watched the helicopter slowly descending towards the ground. You had never seen one from close up, only on television, either in the news sometimes or in your beloved films. Seeing one in real life barely thirty feet away was exciting, to say the least.

Despite of the whipping wind created by the helicopter’s whirring rotor blades, the three men got out of the car. As soon as Mr. Cumberbatch opened the door for you, you were met by a strong gust of wind and struggled to exit the car, but luckily, Mr. Cumberbatch gave you a hand and pulled you to your feet.

“Thank you very much,” you said as you flashed him a smile, one arm held in front of your face to shield it from the wind and the whirled-up dust, but you weren’t looking at him. Your eyes were fixated on the helicopter whose door slid open in that moment.

Out hopped a man in a suit, a porcelain cup filled to the brim with tea along with a saucer in one of his hands, somehow managing to not spill a single drop. He greeted the other men with a simple nod and a “Gentlemen,” while the droning noises from the helicopter were dying down, but a toothy grin appeared on his face the moment he caught sight of you. “Well, who have we here?” He sauntered over to you, his sky-blue eyes scanning your body from head to toe. “Pleased to meet you, Miss …?”

“[First name] [Last name],” you replied and extended your hand, expecting a handshake. But what you got instead were feathery kisses to your knuckles as the man had taken hold of your hand with his own free one and brought it up to his mouth, holding your gaze all the while. With every touch of the stranger’s lips on your skin, a jolt of heat darted up your arm and settled in your cheeks until you were pretty sure that they had been set on fire. The fact that this man was incredibly handsome didn’t help a single bit – quite the opposite.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” Winking at you, he let go of your hand, but not without letting his fingertips brush over the back of your hand before ceasing to touch you completely. “I’m Tom Hiddleston.”


End file.
